


Sweet Uncertainty

by shortystylee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Margaery/Gendry broTP, Meet-Cute, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: Margaery signs up for a baking class to make a present for Loras, but gets much more than she bargains for. Sure, she's trying to pay attention, but the teacher - this Sansa Stark with bright smile and the adorable northern accent - she'd much rather learn about her than read recipes and crack eggs.ModernAU with baking class teacher Sansa, and woefully out-of-her-wheelhouse Margaery.





	1. Chapter 1

She took the first class on a whim. Loras’ birthday was coming up and he always had everything he already needed, gift cards had stopped cutting it a long time ago. She’d gone through concert tickets, theater opening nights - you name it, Margaery had thought of everything.

Except  _ this _ .

Intro to Celebration Cakes

Tuesday, April 7, 6:30pm - 9:00pm

Crownlands Community College, Center Campus, Culinary Building

Instructor: Sansa Stark

Cost: $50, materials included

Despite that she would always thumb through the pamphlets when they showed up in her mailbox three times a year, she never actually took any of the classes offered. A few times something would look interesting - acro yoga, intro to bird watching, basket weaving - but she would either procrastinate too long to sign up, or forget her good intentions the second she closed the brochure.

Not this time. The little blurb had caught her eye, maybe it was that the class was called  _ celebration  _ cakes and not birthday cakes, maybe it was that she was kinda hungry, or that the class description cheerfully asked her to “think outside the cake mix box” and stop thinking that cakes are just for birthdays. She leaned over and grabbed her laptop off the table, creating an account and signing up for the class before she could forget.

*****

That Tuesday evening is the first time she’s stepped foot inside a college in almost…  _ damn, close to nine years now _ , she realizes. Part of her expects a flood of memories when she walks inside, but the culinary building is nothing like the large lecture rooms, chem labs, and greenhouses she spent most of her undergrad life cooped up in. She isn’t exactly sure what to expect from the baking class - she’s never taken any formal cooking classes - but thankfully the online registration system had a little bit more information about the class. Margaery makes sure to wear non-slip closed-toe shoes ( _ no problem there, _ she thinks, her lab manager would kill her if she wore anything else), as well as bring hair tie and a tupperware container to bring home what they would make in class - her roommate Gendry seemed particularly interested in that last part when she mentioned the class to him the other day.

Her shoes skid on the floor as she stops, noticing the TEACHING KITCHEN 2 sign outside a set of swinging double doors. Inside, there’s six workstations, long metal industrial style counters with six burner gas ranges and double sinks built in, each station having matching sets of everything one could possibly need, cutting boards, cake pans and forms, stand mixers, more different types of utensils than Margaery can correctly name. The left wall is lined half with fridges and freezers, half with racks of dry goods, the right wall with double ovens. At the front is another workstation, slightly longer, with a laptop hooked to a projector, and three sets of large mirrors hanging from the ceiling, angled so that the class can see what the instructor is doing.

It’s in a post-war modern building, smack in the middle of center campus, surrounded by skyscrapers full of bankers and accountants, so she’s got no clue why her head keeps sending her images of idyllic pastures, fluffy sheep chomping on grass, sassy British ladies -  _ oh wait _ , she remembers,  _ me and Gendry watched through a full season of Bake Off the other weekend when his girlfriend went back up north, that has to be why _ .

There’s pamphlets on the workstations and she sees names printed at the top of each, so she finds hers and takes her place at the station she’ll share with someone named Lauren who hasn’t shown up yet. She takes off her jacket and places it, along with her backpack, on an empty bottom shelf and when she stands back up, a tall woman walks past, down the center aisle, in a cliche pristine white chef’s coat and long black pants. Margaery is only halfway paying attention until the woman walks behind the teacher’s station, turns to face the class and--

_ Shit, she’s gorgeous _ .

Red hair, pulled back in a poofy fishtail braid, the kind she would attempt and then stop three minutes later in frustration. Side-swept bangs, a smattering of freckles across high cheekbones, and though it’s hard to tell from a two rows back, what she thinks are pale blue eyes. She rolls up both sleeves of her white coat to just above her elbows - slim wrists, long fingers, and,  _ oh, that’s not what I expected at all _ , she thinks, noticing a tattoo of a rolling pin and a whisk, crossed against each other forming an X, on her lower left arm. They’re tied together in a bow with a ribbon.

From across the table, she slides over a single sheet of paper, looking down at it as she removes a watch from her wrist, then announces she’s going to do a roll call first.

Margaery’s into her - the whole look, from the flawless skin and razor sharp jawline, to the touches of personality that show through in her elaborate hair and surprise tattoo, contrasting with the clean, plain lines of the uniform she wears. But she takes a few breaths to get her heart rate back down to normal - and it does get back down to normal - until she hears her speak. Her voice is lower than what Margaery had imagined, with a lilting quality to it that makes her think she’d definitely be in the mezzo-soprano range if she sang. She’s excited all over again, the idea of this proper looking lady with the low voice… and then she hears something else, realizing a second later that this Sansa Stark has a northern accent.

Margaery mumbles out a shaky  _ here _ when her name is called, attempting to seem very interested in flipping through the recipe pamphlet instead of staring at her like she’s starstruck, as if its the first time she’s encountered a beautiful woman before. Roll call finished and itlooks like her table partner isn’t showing up today.

Once she’s done marking off who has arrived, the instructor walks up and down the center aisle as she begins to introduce herself.

“Just wanted to start with some quick introductions. I’m Sansa Stark and hopefully you’re all here for the intro to celebration cakes class. If you’re  _ actually _ supposed to be in Mr. Harrison’s knife skills class over in kitchen number three, I can assure you that not only are the cakes you'll make here much more delicious than the raw veggies he’ll have you chopping, but there’s also a zero percent chance of cutting your fingers off.” There’s some low laughter throughout the room, but no one makes like they’re in the wrong classroom. “Good then, everyone’s staying put.” She continues her introduction, explaining that she’s been a professor in the culinary and hospitality management school for the last five years, and took over the continuing education baking classes after someone else retired.

She takes them through the recipe, explaining how important it is to understand the steps first and not just dive on in. The class watches and cooks along with Sansa through the prep work, measuring, the mixing - everything up until their soon to be carrot cakes and devils food cakes make their way into the ovens.

“Okay,” she begins once everyone is back at their stations, “I’d like you to set your timers for the cakes, and then read through the frosting recipes once more. After that, you’ll get started on those on your own and I’ll come around to check on how each of you are doing.”

Sansa gives them about five minutes to start, busying herself on the laptop, before she begins to make her rounds. She goes through the stations clockwise though, so Maggy is finished with the cream cheese frosting and almost finished with a sad looking batch of vanilla mint buttercream when Sansa gets to her.

“Margaery, right?”  

“Yea, usually just Maggy, or Mags.”

“Maggy,” she echoes back, thoughtfully, wide smile putting perfect teeth on display.  _ Fuck me, that smile _ . “How’s everything coming so far?”

By now, Margaery has somehow gained the composure to complete full sentences in front of Sansa.  _ Thank Christ _ . She leans over and grabs the ceramic bowl of cream cheese frosting so Sansa can see. “I think I’m doing alright. The cream cheese frosting came out at least tasting like what I know it should taste like,” she explains, watching as Sansa leans in, dips a finger in the frosting along the edge of bowl and brings it to her mouth. She hums, nodding in agreement, as Maggy starts to think there’s some celestial force that’s playing a huge joke on her. “I’ve had to move at double speed though, since I don’t have a partner.”

“Yea, I happened to notice you were quite the whirlwind back here. But you’ve got your cakes in the oven, so bravo. Besides, it's her loss that she doesn’t get to have you as a partner, eh?”

“Exactly!” she agrees, possibly a bit too enthusiastically, but Sansa doesn’t seem phased. “Oh, crap, I almost forgot. Can you take a look at my buttercream? It looks, well…” she pauses, searching for a delicate, classroom appropriate description, but then Sansa looks at her funny. “It looks like shit, if we’re being honest.”

Sansa coughs out a laugh, it’s obviously not what she expected to hear. “I’m sure we can fix it,” she replies as she starts to walk around to the same side of the station as Margaery, back to using her best helpful teacher voice. She takes one glance in the mixing bowl of buttercream and looks to Sansa immediately. “By,  _ looks like shit _ , you mean how it’s all lumpy?” Margaery nods. “Did you sift the sugar beforehand?”

“What? No, I… I read through the recipe twice, I don’t know how I missed that.” She runs a hand through her hair, pulling her hair out of its ponytail, and redoing it up into a messy bun. “Is it just shot now?”

“Well,  _ this  _ batch is. Don’t worry though, this kinda stuff happens to everyone. I promise you, I’ve royally screwed up so many recipes before, like you wouldn’t believe. Turned many cakes into inedible hockey pucks.” She glances over her shoulder at the clock above the entrance. “Just start over, sift the sugar this time, and give a yell if you need anything.”

*****

“Baking for anyone special?” It’s the end of class and Margaery is tidying up her station, when she hears that voice right in front of her.

“Yea,” she answers, and for a split second she thinks she sees a minute blip in Sansa’s expression, her smile faltering just slightly, like a single skip in a record, but she tells herself that maybe she imagined it. “My older brother,” Margaery clarifies. “It’s his birthday this weekend. He’s the type that has everything already, so I thought maybe this year I’d surprise him with something homemade.”

“Oh, I know what that’s like. Be careful though, once your family realizes you’ve got a knack for baking you’ll be requested to be patisserie chef for every single gathering.”

“Is that so?” There’s a dusting of flour on the counter and she’s searching for a sponge or something to use to clean it up. Sansa squats down to one of the drawers and pulls out a rag, leans over in front of Margaery, arm in front of her, wiping up the mess. She turns towards the back of the room and tosses the rag into a large bin labeled laundry, easily making the shot.

“Believe me, I grew up in a house with four siblings, our cousin, and a revolving door of extended family and friends.” Sansa’s eyes flutter closed and she smiles widely, a look that Margaery recognizes as loving, nostalgic. She shakes her head when she opens them, like she’s trying to remove herself from whatever memory she was just visiting. “Always made cakes and desserts for birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, you name it. Even had to make the wedding cake for my older brother’s wedding the other year.”

“Better than making it for your own wedding though, eh?” It’s said partially in jest, but she has a plan - a plan to try and weasel out any  _ personal _ information she can get.

“Jesus Christ, can you imagine? Who needs the added stress... I know all the good bakeries, I’ll call one of them up if I ever get married.” Sansa leans against the workstation, clasping her hands in front of her. “Now, what kind of cake do you think you’ll make that lucky brother of yours?”

“Something decadent, German chocolate with raspberries. I’ll need to find a recipe but—”

“No, I’ve got just the thing.” Sansa interrupts, her voice excited. Her hands dart out, going to Margaery’s arms, but she lets go once she realizes her actions. She brings her voice down a notch in its excitement level when she continues - there’s still a couple other students left in the classroom. “I’ll email the recipe to you when I get home later.”

“Email?”

“Yea, I’ve got everyone’s contact info with the class list. Is… that okay?”

“Of course! Yes, email me, whenever you want.”  _ Ugh, “whenever you want.” Come off it, Maggy. _ If she’s being obvious about her attraction, Sansa must not notice since she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Awesome. You’ll have it tonight, I promise.” Sansa circles around to her other side and reaches out to her again, calmly this time. Her hand lands on Margaery’s shoulder, squeezing gently before letting it fall back to her side. “Now, I’ve gotta check on the last group. It was great having you in class, Maggy.”

*****

To: margaerytyrell@gmail.com

From: sstark@crownlandscc.edu

Subject: German Chocolate Cake Recipe

Margaery,

As promised,  here is the link to the recipe I mentioned. It’s fairly straight forward, but be careful melting chocolate with the double boiler - the water should be hot but  _ not _ boiling.

It was an absolute pleasure having you in class today, you’ve got some real potential! If you’re interested, I teach all the continuing ed baking classes and it’d be great to see you in the kitchen again. If anything, do let me know how the cake turns out.

Regards,

Sansa

Sansa Stark

Professor, Culinary Arts & Hospitality Management

Crownlands Community College

*****

Just as promised, Sansa’s email shows up that evening, before Margaery has even arrived back at her apartment. She hears the buzz from her phone on the drive home, and sits in her covered parking spot and reads the email, at least five times over, before she finally makes her way inside. When Gendry asks why she sat outside for so long, she lies, telling him a song came on the radio when she pulled into the complex and she wanted to listen to it. “Jack and Diane,” she tells him, “You know I love that song.” He believes her, he’s been in the car with her dozens of times when she’s done that.

Throughout just a handful of interactions over the two and a half hour class, she noticed that there was this one vibe she got from Sansa, one that rose above the rest of the little personality cues she picked up on. She seemed… genuine. Her Grandma Olenna would tell her not to trust a seemingly genuine person, certainly not in this day and age, that there was always an ulterior motive.

Margaery could not care less. She signs up for the next two Tuesday’s worth of classes straightaway, not even bothering to look at what they’d be making.

There is so much she’s unsure of, but some nagging bit at the back of her mind is telling her to go for it. She doesn’t know if Sansa would be interested in her, or if she’s even interested in women  _ at all _ , and shit, just because it’s confirmed she’s not married doesn’t mean she’s single.

_ But ya know what? I’ve been rejected plenty of times before, and none of those came with the guarantee of baked goods. _


	2. Chapter 2

The recipe from Sansa turns out to be simultaneously the most straightforward yet hardest thing she’s ever done. She convinces Gendry to drive with her to Fossoway’s for the ingredients run, and then also to be her second-in-command as she painstakingly gets down to business. It’s not that she’s never followed a recipe before, but she can’t remember the last time she was cooking for an occasion, for someone other than herself or Gendry and Arya - and neither of those two are very picky about what they eat. It’s not until the two cake pans are in the oven and she’s starting to work on the filling and frosting, that Arya stops by and,  _ thank god _ , points out the one item that Margaery has forgotten about, or rather, didn’t know existed - a cake carrier.  _ Were you just gonna drive across the city and pray that you don’t have to slam on your brakes? _ She sends Gendry out to find one, and some candles, ever thankful that he’s somehow able to navigate Bed, Bath, and Beyond like a middle age housewife. He comes back with a cake carrier, three different types of candles, and four-pack of the purple sugar-free Monster. .

Thanks to Arya, Loras’ birthday cake makes its way across the Friday rush hour stop-and-go traffic of Kings Landing without any hiccups, though Margaery thinks she definitely suffered a few minor heart attacks along the way, each time someone cut her off on the highway. 

The look of amazement on her brother’s face when he takes his first bite of cake is worth every moment of worry and anxiousness that led to its creation. 

“Where did you learn to bake?” he mumbles, mouth still mostly full of cake. It must be good if it makes her hyper-etiquette-sensitive brother speak with his mouth full. He starts again once he’s done with that bite. “I know you didn’t learn this from anyone in our family.”

“I’ve been taking some baking classes. Well, just one so far, but I’ve signed up for more,” she explains. The rest of her family wasn’t too sure what to make of her giving Loras a homemade birthday cake as a present, but everyone had lined up, paper plates in hand, once they saw his reaction. “Does that mean you like it? It’s really alright?” 

“Alright? Maggy, a cake made of chocolate, raspberries, plus more chocolate? It’s not alright, it’s perfect.”

She looks up from the other side of the counter, smile wide across her face. “I’ve known you for long enough now to pick up on what you like.” She cuts another piece of cake and passes it to the next person in line.

“Good, because I’ll be wanting a cake from you every holiday from now on.” 

“...The next holiday is Memorial Day,” she deadpans, uncertain what sort of cake he expects for that.  _ Angel food cake with a bunch of little American flags on toothpicks stuck in it? _

“Well, somebody better get planning, shouldn't they?” 

XxXxX

The rest of the weekend slogs by, despite her best efforts to keep busy, even with plans both days.

When Tuesday finally arrives, she’s antsy at work, all day long, impatient for class later that evening. She pulls up the confirmation email on her phone to check which of the two classes she signed up for is that night.  _ That’s right, the one I can’t figure out how to pronounce _ , she remembers, hoping that Sansa or another student will say the name before she has to. 

She’s pleased her work that day has kept her inside and at her desk, and although writing grant proposals to beg the government for additional research funding isn’t exactly a thrilling way to spend the day, it means she's not knee deep in one of the wetland preserves that line the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Despite the fact that she showered at the lab after fieldwork and that her waders and uniform never came home with her, it always took an extra day or so to completely get rid of that smell. Her last girlfriend had refused to go out for dinner with her on days that she was out in the field. 

Just after lunch, her boss - the endlessly thoughtful lady that she is - notices her restlessness and suggests to Margaery that maybe a change of scenery for the last half of day would help her. She agrees, gathering up her laptop and notes, and is able to enjoy a midday traffic-free drive to a branch of Indigo Coffee close to the community college campus. 

The change of scenery works surprisingly well. Giant coffee and blueberry scone at the ready and headphones on, she’s able to make quick work of typing up a report from yesterday’s lab work. She’s not sure if it’s just being in a different spot, the extra hit of caffeine, or just motivation from being in a coffee full of other people diligently working, but something seems to do the trick. She’s been there about an hour, working on where she left off on a grant request from last week, when there’s a hand on her shoulder. When Margaery turns around, she expects to see Gendry, or Arya, or maybe some extra friendly person trying to get her attention and ask if she’s using the other chair at her table, she does not expect to be greeted by long legs in skintight jeans, or the same blue eyes and red hair that she’s been thinking about for the past week. Sansa is put together perfectly, from the suede ankle boots, to the black and white striped sleeveless blouse, and the light tan leather jacket she’s cradling in the crook of her elbow. Margaery feels out of place and underdressed in her ripped jeans and flannel button down.

“Sansa, hi. What’re you doing here?” She’s trying her damnedest not to seem overly excited. 

“Well, it’s a coffee shop so…” Her voice is teasing, but she grins as she trails off, then holds up a large coffee cup. “Latte break between class and my office hours. With the day I’ve had I deserve this. Do you mind if I join you? You’re not here with someone, are you?” She looks impossibly tall looking down at her, expectantly, and when she pulls her lower lip into her mouth while waiting for a reply, Margaery wishes it was between her teeth instead.

“Oh no, go ahead.” It’s a bit cramped in the area she’s working in, so Margaery grabs on to the seat of her chair and scoots it a little to the left, trying to give her some room to squeeze by. “I’m just finishing up some work stuff. Couldn't seem to get any work done at the office today for some reason.”

Sansa shrugs off her purse, setting it on the floor, before squeezing between the table and the support beam that’s in the way. She settles into the chair and turns it to face towards Margaery, their knees touching when she finally gets situated. On the opposite side of herself, where Sansa can’t see, she digs her short fingernails into her thigh, trying her best not to reveal that somehow even that scant bit of touching has an affect on her.  _ What the fuck is this reaction? It’s just a knee _ , she tries to remind herself.  _ A fully clothed knee. You sit closer than this to strangers on the subway. _

“Not wearing your chef’s whites today?” she asks, but she’s definitely not disappointed. It’s such a difference from her last week dressed for class. Her is hair down, long and straight past her shoulders, and her blouse hits her curves and just  _ clings _ .

And those arms - the Sansa Stark gun show is out on display. 

“Christ, no. Only wear those for the hands-on classes, and the department head gets a bit pissy too if we wear them outside the building. Not like any of us want to. What about you? What do you do you're not enriching your life through continuing education classes?”

“When I'm not trying to learn how to bake, I’m attempting to conserve our wetlands with meager funding. Either I’m sitting behind my laptop, like today, writing government grant requests for funding, or making lab reports… or I’m wearing waders and am knee deep in muck down at the Blackwater. You should be glad I’ve been on grant writing rotation lately, I end up with residual swampland smell for days after fieldwork.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you smell just fine, Maggy.” 

“No, you're just saying that to be polite. I promise you, it is  _ that _ bad. My roommate once ran out to Home Depot to buy an industrial box fan to, as he quoted, relieve the apartment of the swamp stank I brought home.” 

“Are you two…?” She doesn't finish the sentence, but her raised eyebrows and coy smirk tell Margaery everything she needs to know.

“Nope, just  _ extremely  _ platonic best friends. He’s actually head over heels stupid for the girl he’s dating, and despite being an amazing guy, just… not really my type, like that.”  _ Please read between the lines, please read between the lines _ .

She breaks off part of her scone, offering it to Sansa instead of continuing along that conversation, assuming that she’s only got a limited amount of time before she needs to be back on campus. “What were you listening to when I walked up?” Sansa asks. “I said your name about five times but you didn’t hear me.” 

Maggy lights up as soon as music is mentioned, telling Sansa she was listening to a specially made playlist of all her favorite 80s alternative, that never fails to help her get work done - The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Smiths, Tears for Fears. When it comes to the 80s, it turns out Sansa is a bit more partial to what she calls heartland rock, and though Margaery isn’t familiar with the term, it makes total sense once she lists off Springsteen, Mellencamp, and Tom Petty. It makes Margaery think about how she told Gendry she was listening to Jack and Diane in her car he other night, not reading an email over and over again. 

Sansa mentions her own similar playlist for studying. She’s working on a graduate certification for non-profit management, explaining that she wants to start an after school program for kids to get them interested in cooking and gardening, after seeing the disconnect between people and what they’re eating. 

“It’s weird, especially for someone who grew up in the North. We didn’t farm, but half the town did. I actually just put in an application to the university’s extension program, for their master gardener certs.” 

“I may know someone who can help with that.” 

“Hmm?” Sansa hums, taking another drink of her latte. “And who might that be?” 

“Um, none other than yours truly.” 

She still has the coffee cup at her lips when pauses, narrowing her eyes at Maggy. “What? For real?” 

“Just finished my final hours of volunteer work last month.” 

Margaery is almost about to pull her wallet out and show the membership card she got when she completed the certification, but Sansa’s phone starts to vibrate, making them both jump. She quickly turns it over and swipes it off. 

“Don’t wanna talk to whoever that was?” 

“It’s my alarm. Time to head back to campus.” She swirls around the remains of her latte in the bottom of her cup, and quickly downs the last of it. “Will I see you in class this evening? I usually take a look at the rosters but I’ve been absolutely slammed today. I had to make up some weak excuse to even run down here.”

“Yea, the cho pastry class, right?”

“Oh, sweetheart, no. Choux pastry. It’s pronounced like  _ shoe _ .” Margaery stares at her, confused at how that sound comes out of that particular arrangement of letters. “It’s French,” Sansa explains, “So much of this cooking stuff is.”

“You speak French?”

“Un petit peu.” She stands and starts to gather up her things. “But that means ‘just a little bit.’ I took a bit in high school and then had a summer internship there when I was in college, but basically I just know enough to not make a complete ass of myself.” 

Margaery pushes her chair back and stands to join her, moving the chair and small table out of the way so Sansa can get through. “Well, at least I got to mispronounce it in front of just you and not the entire class.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed.” She squeezes past Maggy, her hand reaching out to grab on to her forearm, just lightly, as she makes her way out of the corner. “It was cute, really,” she promises, arm finally dropping down to her side. “I gotta jet though, see you soon.”  

Her arm is still on fire from Sansa held on to her, despite it being through her sleeve and only for a few seconds. She sits and tries to pick up where she left off in her grant request, but it’s pointless - her productive afternoon is completely shot.

*****

Sansa is already in the classroom this time when Margaery arrives, hustling around getting the final class preparations ready. She’s changed back into her hands-on teaching uniform - white chef’s coat, black slacks, sensible shoes, and her hair pulled back in the most unnecessarily complicated variation on a French braid that Margaery could ever imagine. She’s at a loss for how someone does their own hair like that, imagining it involves watching hours of YouTube tutorials and around three mirrors.

When she takes roll call in class, Sansa smiles and greets Maggy by her nickname, instead of calling out her name, like she does for everyone else. After almost the same introduction as last week, she explains how class is going to proceed, the three different parts of the recipe - the choux pastry, the pastry cream filling, and the chocolate glaze. Margaery’s partner in class today is an older lady, who thankfully seems to know what she’s doing. They get along easily and work well together - both receiving praise from Sansa each time she makes her rounds to check on the various groups. 

Midway through class, she notices a missed call and text from one of her coworkers, so instead of sticking around in the kitchen after class to try and catch Sansa, she heads out into the hallway to call him back. It’s nothing serious, as it turns out, and was certainly nothing that couldn’t be dealt with the next day at work. She reaches into the front pocket of her backpack, where she’d normally keep her keys, but it’s empty, save for a couple of gum wrappers and coins.

_ Alright, Mags, where’d you put them this time? _ She kneels on the floor with her bag in front of her, unzipping the pockets to try and find them. There’s so much in her bag - more than she was even aware - but no keys in sight. In a matter of minutes, she’s practically emptied out her entire bag. Most of the things she finds had been completely forgotten about - a few Clif bars, way more cherry chapsticks than she remembers even buying, a set of crayons like they give children at restaurants - but not the one thing she actually wants.  

She hears footsteps and looks up to see Sansa walking down the hallway towards her. She’s changed out of her uniform and back into the same outfit from earlier. The difference between the two of them isn’t lost on Margaery - Sansa looking  _ yet again _ perfectly poised, while Margaery is in her flannel button down and muscle tank, ripped jeans and Docs, sitting on the floor with the contents of her backpack laid out around her. 

“Hey, Maggy… what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Can’t find my god forsaken keys,” Margaery groans out, her voice getting angry. “Sorry, I’m just mad at myself for misplacing them.”  _ Again _ , she reminds herself. 

“Could you take the train home, or maybe an Uber? I don’t have my car on campus today or I’d offer you a ride.”

“It’s not just the drive. My roommate is out and my house keys are on the same keychain.”

“Shit.” Sansa takes the last steps over and drops her purse to the ground, then kneels down next to her, helping gather up everything she’s spread out.

“Yea.”

“Well, where’ve you been today?” She reaches over, handing Margaery back her laptop and spiral bound notebook.

“Just work, and I definitely had them when I left since I drove to… Indigo! They have to be there. It’s so close to campus I just walked over.” Her voice is excited at the idea of knowing where her keys are, and she lets out a sigh of relief.  _ I definitely was not looking forward to walking home tonight. _

“See, I bet that’s where they are. They probably just fell out of your bag or something when you packed up to leave.” Sansa stands, shouldering her purse again and handing Margaery her backpack once she joins her. “Come on, I live that way, might as well walk together.” She threads her arm in Margaery's, elbow to elbow, leading her out of the building. They break apart when they arrive at the doors to outside, unable to get through the them otherwise. “Oh, hey,” Sansa continues, “I almost forgot - you still need to tell me how your German chocolate cake turned out.”

“That’s right!” she exclaims, now in much better spirits. “It was so delicious, really. I think I surprised everyone with that, myself included.”

“I’m not surprised at all.” She leans in, bumping her shoulder into Maggy’s. The street lights are on, but it’s still a bit too dark for Sansa to see how Margaery smiles at that small action. “Like I said before, you’ve done really well in class.”

“Well, maybe it’s because I’ve got such a good teacher.”

“Stop,” Sansa drawls, rolling her eyes. 

“That recipe you sent was super easy to follow, too.” As they walk, she pulls out her cell phone, bringing up pictures of the cake and party. When they stop at an intersection, she flicks through the pictures - there’s one she took of just the cake to post on Instagram afterwards, and a number of the friends and family who had gathered at Loras and Renly’s condo for the party. She stops at one she particularly likes, pointing out who’s in the picture.

“That’s Loras, the birthday boy, in case the silly hat doesn’t make that obvious, and his partner, Renly,” she explains. “The older lady to the right of me, the one dressed like a rich widow is my grandmother, Olenna.” 

“That hat! Is every day derby Sunday for her?”

“Pretty much,” Margaery agrees, and it’s true. Her grandmother’s style has always been one part Queen Elizabeth, one part Golden Girls, and one part Kentucky Derby party.

“How long have your brother and his partner been together? They make quite the good looking couple.” 

“Going on fifteen years now, I think. They met at college... so yea, about that long. My entire family is surprised they aren't married by now.”

“I guess everybody does things at their own pace. They balance out my brother who married a girl after only two months of dating.” She adjusts her purse and hugs her arms around herself. “It’s awesome even your grandmother is cool about it though.” Glancing over a Margaery, Sansa sees that she’s looking at her like she needs to explain herself further. “Your brother being gay. I mean, my immediate family is super tolerant of practically everything, but if my grandparents were still around I’m not sure how they’d be.”

“Oh yea, I know what you mean. Grandma Olenna is rather forward thinking for someone her age.” They round the corner onto the block where Indigo is, two storefronts in from the corner. Being closer to the building, Sansa opens the door. “Made it pretty easy for me though, the first time I brought a girlfriend home.”

And there it is. She’s said it, just put it out there in the open as casually as possible. Albeit, she says it right while Sansa is holding the door open, is unable to even see if there’s any reaction on her face, and walks straight up to the guy behind the counter to ask about her keys. She describes her keychain in detail to him - a black carabiner with a three silver keys, a Subaru keyfob, keychain with a Lego version of her that Renly made, and a number of membership cards for stores. He bends down and pulls a set of keys out of a cabinet below the register, and  _ thank god _ , they’re hers. 

They walk back to the corner, and Margaery says she’s parked across the other way. 

“Oh, okay then. Well, I’m glad you got your keys back,” Sansa adds. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, tugging her leather jacket shut a little. “Will I see you in class next Tuesday? The macaron class is one of my favorites.”

“I’ll be there,” Margaery confirms. She doesn't mean to, but a smile comes to her face when she thinks about getting to spend more time with Sansa, even if it’s just time spent in the classroom. For a split second, it crosses her mind that it'd be simple enough to look up her office on the college website, surprise her with lunch or midday lattes while she’s teaching but…  _ no, don’t be daft. She’s not your girlfriend _ . “Already signed up.”

The crosswalk sign changes to the walk symbol, beeping, and the computerized voice announces that it’s safe to cross. Sansa turns towards her fully, and Margaery is a bit slow to realize she’s coming in for a hug. She’s taller by about a full head, and the boots Maggy has on only give her an extra inch or two, but she’s not complaining. Not at all. It’s so easy to let herself be pulled in by Sansa as she wraps her arms around her and squeezes, just a bit. It’s not the half-hearted, ass out, light-handed hug that Margaery expects - this one is, at the very least, a friend hug. 

“You better go before the light changes,” Sansa says as she pulls away, looking over at the crosswalk sign that’s already started it’s countdown. 

“I know, I’ll see you next week.” Margaery plasters on a smile that’s much happier than she actually feels, saying goodbye as she turns and starts to quickly cross the road. 

It’s a bit of an awkward goodbye, and Margaery is sure it’s on both ends. She doesn’t want to leave, to go back to her empty apartment do nothing until she makes herself go to bed. There’s an amazing little place she knows of, Wells Street Cafe, maybe four blocks away, with sidewalk seats and Edison light bulbs strung up from the trees and pergola above everything, absolutely perfect for a warm spring night like this. They serve lattes with fancy foam art in giant ceramic mugs, much nicer than anything you’d get at Indigo, and every dessert imaginable, from pies filled with whatever is in season, miniature cheesecakes, to her favorite - the caramel flan. She wonders if Sansa would like a place like that, since she could just as easily make the desserts herself. 

It’s only a couple blocks to the parking garage she’s in, but by the time she’s there and unlocking her car, Margaery already has at least three dates with Sansa thoroughly planned out in her mind.

****

When Gendry gets home, his girlfriend Arya in tow behind him, Margaery is saddled up on the couch with about a million tabs open in her Chrome browser, making her way through a container of eclairs.

“Working this late on a Tuesday night?” Gendry asks. She knows where they were, their regular table for Tuesday night trivia at the bar around the corner.

“Just a bit of research, that’s all.”

Arya heads over to the kitchen as Gendry walks around to the back of the couch and leans down, trying to see what Maggy is working on. “Oh, for that new paper you told me about? For that biology journal or whatever.”

“No, it’s not quite that, it’s -”

“Whoa, who is that?” he asks, and she immediately slams the laptop lid shut. “She’s pretty cute.”

She turns around to shush him and they stare at each other for a few moments, faces contorting and eyebrows raising, a whole conversation in that silent language they’ve perfected over the last fourteen years.

This time, Maggy loses.

“Fine, fine. It’s the teacher from those baking classes I signed up for down at Triple-C.”

“And?”

“And I’m trying to find clues to see if she’s into women or not.” Margaery sighs and opens laptop lid, fully, moving her hand around the mousepad to make it wake up. “But there’s so little to go off. All I get from Facebook are a couple profile pictures, her birthday… I already assumed she lives in Kings Landing, and I know she works in the culinary program.” She points at each area of the screen as she says them. “Instagram is locked down too, and I found her on LinkedIn, but that’s zero help, of course. I dunno, all I want is a picture of her from Pride, or Facebook to tell me she’s a fan of AutoStraddle or Tegan and Sara… anything… What do you think?”

“Beats me, Mags.” He makes his way around the couch, grabbing an eclair from the container as he sits down next to her. Gendry looks over his shoulder when he hears Arya coming back from the kitchen.

“What’re you two up to?”

“Me? Nothing,” Gendry answers. “But Maggy’s trying to figure out if her baking class teacher is gay or not. You wanna take a guess?”

Arya walks over and leans her forearms on the back of the couch, stretching forward to grab an eclair. Margaery has Facebook open still, and she scrolls up to the top so she can see the profile picture. A beat passes, and Arya makes a strangled choking noise, before she coughs a few times. Gendry barely has enough time to lean back and ask if she’s okay, before she’s laughing so hard she has to brush the tears off her cheeks.

“You’re in luck, Maggy,” Arya finally manages to say. “That one’s into ladies, one hundred percent.”

“How the fuck did you decipher that?”

She stares at her for second and rolls her eyes. “Take at look at your crush’s last name, genius,” she tells Maggy as she points at the screen.

Sansa… Stark. Arya… Stark.  _ Fucking hell _ .

“You’re related?”  _ It’s official. I am the least observant person in this entire city. _

“Um, yea. We kinda have the same last name and all.”

“Half the population of Winterfell is named Stark,” Maggy says in an effort to redeem herself. “Fuck, Arry, make that half the population of the entire North.”

“Good point. In any case, _that’s_ my older sister.” Instead of going around, Arya climbs over the back of the couch and plops herself down in Gendry’s lap. “I’m pretty sure she’s got all her shit on lock down because she’s a teacher, but just so there’s no misunderstandings... she is gay, she did go to Pride last year, and,” Arya pauses, letting out a quick laugh before she continues, “She adores Tegan and Sara.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had so many plot bunnies lately, and this just happened to be one of them.


End file.
